


Founded It Upon the Seas

by kelleigh (girlfromcarolina)



Series: Mr. & Mr. Smith [2]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, First Meetings, M/M, Mr. & mr. Smith, Prequel, Tropical Vacation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-12 06:49:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29505777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlfromcarolina/pseuds/kelleigh
Summary: Every love story has a beginning. Even theirs.
Relationships: Jensen Ackles/Jared Padalecki
Series: Mr. & Mr. Smith [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2167317
Comments: 2
Kudos: 78





	Founded It Upon the Seas

**Author's Note:**

> A prequel to my Mr. & Mrs. Smith story, Happy Endings [Are Just Stories That Haven't Finished Yet] and features assassin!Jensen/assassin!Jared. Title from the motto of the Cayman Islands.
> 
> Edited and cleaned up for reposting to AO3. Originally posted May 2009.

_NOVEMBER 2005_

Thanks to the empty beach and nearly cloudless sky, Jensen can see the distant line of Cuba on the horizon. As it was to pirates during their heyday, Cayman Brac is a haven for the specialist: it’s distanced enough politically from its northern neighbor to practically be a different world. Even so close, Jensen's pretty sure he's not even a blip on the Cuban military's radar. Another clean getaway.

The private cottage behind him is nowhere near as decadent as those on Grand Cayman, but it's the perfect escape. It's repayment for a favor to the Kierland family that Jensen's gotten far too much mileage out of; he won't argue with their continued gratitude. He can blend in well on the island, virtually disappear. Scuba gear sits on the creaking, leaning porch, numbering him among the diving faithful who pilgrimage to the tiny bluff island every year. But he has a small, private beach, water bluer than you'd see on a postcard, and no interruptions. There's only a satellite phone keeping him in contact with the agency.

Sunlight reflects off the choppy water, shining as colored sparks in Jensen's eyes, and he drifts off to the melody of the crashing waves, harmonizing with the breeze through the palms. The crosses and knots of the hammock dig into his back but the rocking soothes him through the discomfort and sways him to sleep.

Hours later, the shadows of the large palms above cross Jensen's face and wake him up; the cooler shade is a blessing. Splashing noises along the water's edge catch his ear and, thinking it's just the rhythm of a wave crashing, he doesn't turn until there's movement in his peripheral vision.

There's no way to make out the quick-moving form at first. It's bathed in sunlight, bright and shimmering, until Jensen focuses through and sees a man running. Not _running away_ , at which Jensen's so adept, but casually loping through the low surf, beads of water kicked up as sneaker-clad feet slap down.

His mouth goes suddenly dry at the sight of a bared, tanned torso, so long and lean, leading to dark shorts and endless legs. The man’s dark hair is wet, sweat-soaked under the sun's heat and the pace of the man's stride. The swing of his arms, toned obliques stretching and flexing, and the look on his face is telling, as if the man has found nothing better in the world than splashing along the ocean's edge and flaunting himself for Jensen. It makes him want to try something so carefree.

And his smile, visible even at fifty feet when the man turns to Jensen on his way past the bungalow, nearly flips Jensen off the hammock. In that instant, there's nothing hidden in the stranger's expression, and Jensen's hooked on the sensation; he has a sudden urge to see that every day. A tingle starts in his blood, bubbling like an arousal-induced attack of the bends, and he loses his breath until the gaze is broken and the stranger runs by.

Jensen can't move from the gently rocking hammock until the sun starts to set, a ball of white flame turning orange, then a hazy red, before it sinks into the Western horizon. When the cooler, but still humid, evening settles around him, he tips off the swing and lands nimbly in the sand.

If there's one thing he's learned about the tropical nights, it's to expect the unexpected (and never leave your room without a weapon). Jensen readies himself for whatever he might encounter tonight.

After getting dressed, he walks towards the larger villas and restaurants of the West End. Even at its peak, the beach village is casual and relaxing, thanks to easy-going visitors more interested in planning their next dive or hike than making trouble.

He scans the crowds as he strolls casually, easily mixing with the tourists and locals. On an island of only a few thousand, finding the stranger shouldn't be a problem.

It's a lot less work than he expects. Walking into La Esperanza's outdoor bar, there's a tall figure already leaning into a corner, the perfect spot to watch the entire place: a nook Jensen would have settled into himself. Brown, wavy hair and bronzed skin are all Jensen needs to recognize the man, and he stops in the entrance just to stare.

Wet sneakers have been replaced by worn, narrow sandals, revealing feet and ankles that meet long, toned legs. The other man's stance accentuates calf muscles and a glimpse of ripped thighs before it's cut off by navy blue shorts. The soft grey t-shirt he’s wearing is tight enough to reveal dips and curves of the torso Jensen hasn’t been able to get out of his mind, yet covers too much at the same time. Jensen's hands itch to rip it off.

The game's up when he meets amused, light eyes that don't hide the fact Jensen's own linen and khaki-covered form was being analyzed in return.

Jensen's killed men in the past for calling him a coward, so it's nothing for him to step up to the bar along the far end where his stranger waits. There's a near-empty beer sitting at the man's elbow, but the look Jensen's getting puts him in the mood for something a little stronger.

"Rum and soda," he calls to the bartender, not caring about the brand. Whatever you get in your glass on Brac is better than the top shelf liquor served in Texas. The first sip of the smooth, dark drink slides down easily, and only then does he acknowledge his companion.

"Buy you a drink?"

The bartender's back, sliding over a fresh pint and the man grins. "You just did."

He's forward and gorgeous; Jensen feels a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Cocky, aren't you?"

"I know my way around a bar pick-up.” The wide smile takes the sting out of his comeback, and Jensen smiles.

"Do you, now?"

He gets a deep laugh, complete with scrunched eyes and dimples. "Nah, I ordered it just before you showed up. I thought I might have to wait a while longer." He swallows the rest of his current drink—Jensen's eyes are locked on the motion of his throat—before he sets the empty glass down and extends his hand. "I'm Jared."

"Jensen," he answers, not thinking to use an alias and unsurprised at having been expected. "So, are you a diver?" Jensen can already picture Jared stripping out of a wetsuit, water sluicing down his torso before it disappears into dark fabric.

"Rock climber, actually," Jared smiles. That’s an even better visual—having Jared's shoulders bared to the sun as he climbs on Brac's famous bluffs, muscles tight and locked to pull him higher towards the sky. “Been down here for a few days now, working on an assignment and making my way around the island to all the caves and climbs.”

“What kind of assignment?”

“I’m a travel writer,” Jared responds smoothly, as if talking about his job is second nature. “I never know where my company will send me next, I’m just glad to be somewhere warm. What brings you here?”

“Just a well deserved vacation,” Jensen slides easily into the story, though he’d truly _earned_ the break after the double-hit in Havana. “Kicking back and taking it easy.”

Their small talk gradually dissolves into heated looks and strangely comfortable silences. Jensen’s used to skirting around topics and providing vague answers during conversations, but Jared’s content to just stare. Jensen doesn’t mind the way Jared’s eyes go darker as the night continues. Every look bestowed on the other is a compliment, flattery and curiosity traded back and forth. 

By the time the bar lights flicker for last call, the atmosphere’s heavy with unspoken need. Jensen’s gotten closer to Jared, angling himself into the corner between the bar and the other man, held by a strong arm at his back. Warm air settles around them. Skin is suddenly more sensitive and looks linger.

"I've got a cottage up the beach."

"Do you?" Jared echoes Jensen's earlier sarcasm and he realizes, _of course_. Jared would already know about his place considering he ran by it.

"Oh, shut up," he laughs, throwing a hand up to Jared's chest. The tension flares between them with the intentional contact and there's no escape.

"So, your place?" Jared breathes out, chest pressing further against Jensen's palm.

"Yeah."

@@@

They don’t stumble into the cabin with tangled limbs, both too controlled despite the anticipation and happy to ratchet up the tension by waiting. It's a game Jensen rarely plays, but it has his blood stirring now that he’s found a worthy opponent.

The calm lasts until Jensen shuts the bedroom door behind them. Jared stands by the window; one silent command from his eyes has Jensen stripping his shirt. He’s careful to keep the sheathed knife hidden in his pocket when he slides his pants off. Jared mirrors, slipping out of the grey cotton t-shirt and unbuttoning his shorts.

Jensen’s had eager lovers on almost every continent. Men who saw his body as a temple to be worshipped and others who fumbled in their passion, awed and intimidated. The sensation when Jared sees him naked is wholly new. He feels owned in the span of one look. It goes beyond arousing and heats him to the core. Jensen hopes the smolder in his own eyes can devastate Jared even half as much.

They meet in the middle of the room and, like a whirlwind, the two men are suddenly caught up. Jensen doesn't know who moves first, but within seconds he's licking into Jared's mouth. One of his hands wraps into Jared's hair, hard tugs on the soft strands to angle their lips together, while the other settles lower on the hard ridge of Jared's hipbone bared by the low-slung shorts. There’s a bulge hitting his leg, and it’s _not_ Jared’s cock. Jensen feels Jared’s hand let up for a moment, reaching down and pulling out a folded blade, too big to be a Swiss Army knife, and tossing it aside.

“Sorry,” he smiles sheepishly even as Jensen’s lips close in on Jared’s again. “Never know what you’ll find here at night.”

While Jensen's attention is focused on any part of Jared's magnificent body he can reach, Jared seems interested solely in Jensen's mouth. Jared's tongue, and teeth join in the assault; Jensen’s lips are bitten and soothed in the same moment, over and over, until Jensen sucks Jared's tongue into his mouth and retakes control of the kiss.

Their mouths barely part when they fall back onto the bed. Jensen keeps his eyes open, wanting to _see_ Jared this close, hovering half over him. Moles and dimples accent his features, forehead lined with concentration as Jared steals Jensen's soul one kiss at a time.

Jared only pulls back to push his shorts off, and Jensen can finally feel everything the other man has to offer. Firm hands that cradle even as they push and knead, lips that exalt in the same breath they devour and mark. And his arousal, hard and throbbing against Jensen's own, promises a possession that has Jensen writhing beneath Jared.

"God yes, Jensen," Jared gasps. "Just like that."

Jensen hooks his legs behind Jared's back and rocks them together. "Feel good?"

"You don't even _know_ ," he groans, surging in Jensen's arms. 

Jensen does know—the slide and shudder is driving him crazy. "Jared, I don't—I can't wait."

The other man stops their groping and rutting to moan brokenly. "I don't want to stop kissing you," Jared says before locking his lips to Jensen's again. Their tongues roll against each other, harder this time, desperation from Jensen and dominance from Jared.

"Jared, please," he whines, no longer willing to go another moment without Jared inside him.

"Okay," Jared whispers with another nip to swollen lips and Jensen's tongue darts out to catch Jared's cheek before he pulls away. "I need...hang on."

Jared leans over the bed, delicious backside on full display. He pulls the necessary items from his discarded shorts and rears back up.

"Boy Scout," Jensen accuses without heat.

"Something like that," Jared smirks, and then he's back in Jensen's space, breathing low and dirty along the curve of his ear. “What do you want, Jensen?”

His legs fall open in a clear invitation; Jared’s erection bobs against his stomach when the meaning hits him. Slick fingers touch low and move farther back, massaging before pressing inside. All the while Jensen’s lips remain prisoner. Jared’s mouth is unrelenting with fervor. In the meantime, Jensen’s hands aren’t passive or gentle. His fingers roam firmly across Jared’s lines and planes. Neither man's going to break easily so his palms grip with intent, urging Jared on as his fingers open Jensen.

When the burn is too much and lust consumes his last sense, Jensen strokes his own erection, driven by the maddening look in Jared’s wide eyes when they track the motion.

The press of Jared’s flesh inside him locks his spine and Jensen cries out. The sharp pain fades to dull throbs, Jared muttering incoherent reassurances against his skin until it’s just _them_ again.

Following the inexplicable connection that’s entwined them all night, Jared doesn’t start thrusting. He savors and rocks gently with his hips. Jensen wants Jared to possess him from the inside and when the fever finally passes, he can feel everything. They hold each other so, suspended in pleasure until Jared whines and his hips stutter into Jensen’s prostate. The immediate shock has Jensen rocking down onto Jared and from there, instinct takes over and the two men are lost.

Jensen’s distantly aware of the knocks—bed frame into wall with every deep thrust—and his own cries keeping time. Jared’s eyes barely waver, remaining locked with Jensen’s, and that invasion is more intimate than their joining below.

Large palms cradle behind Jensen’s head when their rhythm falters beyond control. The move wraps them up so tightly with Jensen’s hips braced up and apart on Jared’s strong thighs. Jensen’s no slouch—his body is his most reliable weapon—but Jared bends him like it’s nothing. The sheer novelty of this, all that dangerous power coiled in muscle and sinew, has Jensen’s mind spinning with lust.

Jensen’s lips are split wide around constant pleas for _more_ and _harder_ and _Jaredplease_. Whether or not Jared hears, he obeys masterfully, still licking across and into Jensen’s mouth. He’s held close by Jensen’s fingers; they clutch behind his neck and twine into sweat-damp curls.

Jensen comes first, one hand moving to stroke himself slick and sure while the other continues to grip Jared close. He’s still shaking when Jared drives forward and seals their mouths together, shudders and jerks matching Jensen’s in intensity.

“That was—“ Jared gasps, lungs desperate for air.

Jensen can’t even nod to agree. His limbs surrender and fall to the sheets heavily when Jared carefully separates them.

“Hey.” It’s quieter now and Jensen realizes he drifted while Jared cleaned them off and pulled away the wet sheet. “You all right?”

Silly question. Sex won't break someone like Jensen, so he answers with a languid kiss to show how much he appreciates the concern. Their mouths are open, sharing the same air, as their tongues meet and duel gently between. When Jared settles back alongside, Jensen catches a new detail of Jared’s body.

“Is that a tattoo?” His eyes indicate the small, dark print across Jared’s left hip.

Jared sighs. “One of those poor, drunken decisions.” His eyes are closed, but moonlight reflected off the calm water illuminates his sharp profile.

“Nine – thirteen – oh – two,” Jensen reads and Jared’s eyes flick open.

“Just numbers.”

Jensen can’t place the sadness in the other man’s tone, so out of sorts with the man he just had sex with. The time isn’t right for stories, so he jokes instead.

“High school locker combination?” Jensen gets a small smile for that. “Mom’s birthday? _Your_ birthday?”

Jared’s head shaking lets hair flop across his face; it makes him look so much younger.

“An anniversary.”

He can tell that’s all he’s getting, but Jensen can’t complain. He’s the master at _need-to-know_. But Jared’s got him feeling more like he _needs-to-share_ and he tramples that urge.

The younger man does have him thinking though. Jensen would need many more fingers and toes to count the number of people he’s “eliminated”, but it only takes a hand to number the men he’s spent more than one night with since the agency shouldered its way into his life. He hasn’t exactly missed intimacy in the past. Jensen allows his mind to ponder it now.

He wants Jared in that hammock, swinging slowly while the sun's still hidden behind the eastern tree line. Jensen could learn every curve of Jared's neck and shoulders while he’s lying there. He's felt Jared's strength and craves being held weightlessly in the clear water, out in the open and free, as Jared takes him.

Jensen wants it all. He wants _more_.

"Do you have a place to stay on the island?" He asks over a yawn, still too warm to shuffle any closer to Jared.

"I’ve sort of been moving around. Why?"

"I think you should stay here.” Jensen raises his voice to be heard over the crashing surf, louder and lulling at night.

"You think, huh?" Jensen holds his breath for an inexorable second at Jared's low laugh. "You're serious?"

"Deadly," he answers with a smile.

The other man's eyes narrow almost imperceptibly, like he's trying to work out the joke that has Jensen grinning. Finally, Jared smiles too.

"Okay."

@@@

There's a soft tapping on Jensen's door when the sun emerges from the horizon, but he barely stirs. Jared, on the other hand, starts awake at the sound and looks around. A hand on thigh stills him, his eyes meeting Jensen's.

"Hey, it's just Daniella with breakfast."

Jared's eyebrow rises questioningly.

"She works for the owners and drops off meals sometimes." Jensen's been very grateful for her so far. The woman has a knack for taking simple ingredients and turning them into fresh, delicious meals Jensen would stack against any Texan momma's cooking. His stomach growls and Jensen wonders what she's left wrapped on the porch for him, if it will be the spicy tomato and cucumber salad or the poached eggs with Daniella’s homemade fruit salsa.

The other man flops back down, bouncing Jensen with his weight. Cooler air heralds another beautiful day. Jared's so close again, and by the dawning light Jensen can see more of his body than he could last night. The endless expanses of bronzed skin make Jensen’s mouth water, the sight more appealing than any of Daniella’s culinary arts. 

He doesn’t stop himself from leaning over and sinking his teeth into the curved stretch of neck so bared for him. Jared moans. Jensen tastes. He relishes the smooth skin under his tongue, the way there’s just enough give to hold his teeth while Jensen savors the essences of sex and sun.

Jared squirms under the attention; his hand moves to stroke his morning erection as Jensen’s arousal rocks against Jared’s leg. From the corner of his eye, Jensen watches Jared’s large palm squeeze in time with the bites, twisting slowly around blood-darkened flesh when Jensen sucks.

“Jensen—unh, Jensen!”

He raises his mouth only millimeters from Jared’s neck. “What?”

“Don’t— _fuck_ , don’t stop!”

Jensen’s breath hitches at the desperation on Jared’s face, so beautiful and flushed, straining for release.

“Wasn’t planning on it,” he remarks, cool and quiet before closing his mouth around a tendon, intent on marking Jared sufficiently before they make it out of bed.

@@@

There are no scuba diving excursions planned and Jared never brings up his next hike. Instead, they remain holed up in Jensen’s cottage, leaving only for necessities like food, drinks, and rum raisin ice cream on the hottest night thus far.

After the bike vendor cycles away into the night with his small freezer, they share the cup of surprisingly sweet frozen custard on the cottage steps. Jensen sits sprawled back between Jared’s legs. Their feet are bare, sunken into the soft sand together, rubbing every so often in a teasing caress. 

Jensen’s phone has already rung twice today, ignored both times in favor of lazy kisses.

“Just my boss,” Jensen had explained hastily earlier after throwing the cell phone where it couldn't be heard. He'd been much more interested in the slow tongued explorations Jared was making of his back. 

“Shouldn’t you answer, then?”

“No, he’s just trying to remind me that the real world exists out there.”

Jared had yawned against Jensen’s shoulder. “Does it?”

Jensen had flipped them quickly, catching the younger man off-guard (a specialty), and lowering his body to grind them together. He’d watched sunlit hazel turn to burnished gold at the press of flesh. The phone could have rung all it wanted; Jensen couldn’t look away. 

“I don’t care.”

Now, their passion has ebbed for the moment while they enjoy the last flares of sunset and the locally made ice cream, catching up on conversations previously interrupted by mutual desire.

"Where's home for you?" Jensen asks softly.

Hollywood. New York City. Miami. He'd go anywhere Jared calls home. Jensen can travel, he _will_ travel. Fuck the agency's tight leash.

“Outside Dallas.”

“Are you...seriously?” Jensen sputters, craning his neck but unable to fully see Jared’s eyes.

He can see the warm smile when Jared answers without pause. “Yeah, why’s that so surprising?”

There’s a moment’s hesitation that stops Jensen, but when Jared’s arms tighten, he ignores it. “Because that’s where I’m from.”

Jared laughs until he realizes Jensen’s being honest. The look on his face changes, something not unlike relief shining there.

“So, we’ve been in the same city all this time…”

“And never met? I guess so. My job has me traveling a lot though, and I don’t really get out,” Jensen explains.

“Neither do I, and you already know I’m a traveler.”

Jensen thinks about it; Jared’s life didn’t seem much different from his—on the surface at least. A lot of globe-trotting, going wherever your bosses deemed necessary and catching whatever time he could for himself. 

“Funny how things work out, isn’t it?” Jensen’s almost _glad_ he was sent to Cuba. He never would have made it to Brac otherwise. Maybe he’ll send the agency a thank you card. Or flowers. He laughs to himself at the thought, and resettles against Jared’s chest to watch the sun finally disappear.

Their quiet moment is interrupted by Daniella’s melodic whistling as she walks up the path from the road, signaling the arrival of their late dinner. Jared, more enamored of the woman’s cooking than even Jensen has been, shoves him away playfully and jumps up.

Completely not offended at being abandoned in favor of food, Jensen remains on the steps until he can hear Jared yelling excitedly over tonight’s meal of seasoned, grilled flounder and cold, red rice.

@@@

"Don't you get lonely, exploring around the world by yourself?"

Every window in the cottage is flung open to welcome whatever breeze is to be found in the muggy night. In the bedroom, Jared and Jensen are surrounded by their own dissipating heat, foregoing sleep in favor of quiet conversation.

“Don’t _you_ get lonely, traveling from place to place all alone?” Jared jokes softly behind him. "I like being on my own. I work more efficiently that way."

"Hmm, is that right?" Jensen can appreciate that, though. It's always been his _modus operandi_.

Jared curls tighter around him on the bed, flesh hardening once more as it slides along the small of Jensen's back.

"Yeah," he breathes. To Jensen, the soft exhale hints at possibility. "Well, until I _don't_."

Right now, giving in to their bodies’ demands again and never wanting it to end, Jensen understands that, too.

@@@

For three days, Jensen shares the cottage with Jared; his “alone time” turns into the best vacation he can remember thanks to Jared's presence. They don’t argue beyond who gets which side of the bed. Even then, they end up turned around and curled in the middle come morning. It’s easy and peaceful in a way Jensen’s never known.

But today it’s ending. The agency can’t be held at bay forever and Jensen knows there’ll be a boat waiting in a few hours to take him back to Grand Cayman.

He could come home to this—want what he’s never cared to have before. It might make Jensen selfish, but that’s his life. He’s never been the “take what you can get” kind of man. With Jensen, it’s always _full-throttle_ or _abort mission_.

Sitting in the hammock—which was finally christened in a hilarious escapade that flipped Jared onto the sand more than once and left Jensen with rope burn—he watches Jared come up the beach, ready to say goodbye. When the younger man focuses on Jensen, there’s so much in his gaze. He feels a cool breeze slide over his skin to banish the sun’s heat, but the palm fronds don’t stir.

If he believes in Jared, in everything that’s happened between them—when he’s never put much faith in others—he could just _ask_.

But it's impossible. There's no reason to even hope—

"Can I call you when I'm back in the States?" Jensen finds himself asking before he can change his mind.

Jared smiles, wide and easy, looking like everything Jensen never knew he always craved. “I’m pretty sure I’d hunt you down if you didn’t, Jensen.”

It sounds like a promise.

THE BEGINNING.


End file.
